The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1887-10-13
hat happened, of course, to every

man.
Then | sat and thought while, and
finally l reused out Madison.
You take my turn" l said to him,
I'm going home"
.'Not brute that viii travel"
You'll pass in your check before
morning.
mo; the wind is at my back; no
fords; I'll keep going" and l went.
Went; hall running, with the wind
driving me on till l was ready to
drop. Once fell and lay there, with
the wind dragging and tearing at me,
until | began to grow sleepy, and then
1 had to get up and go ahead again.
Perhaps you never tried crossing a
prairie at night without a trail to fol-
low. It's curious thing, one can't
account for; one that makes you feel
as if your body and all your senses
were of no more account than a spent
cartridge. 1t happened to me that
night, space and time seemed to get
all mixed up together all at once rae
ing along; it seemed to me that l had
been up to that sort of thing for hours.
felt so adrift somehow-so horribly
lost-as if l had slipped out of my
self, and was out in space without land
mark to measure anything by, ex-
pect you'll have to try it yourself to
know what mean. l had no watch;
there was no way of knowing how
much time had gone. OF all the devils
that can enter into man uncertainty
is the worst. Every sort of fancy
came into my head. Perhaps l did
not know the route as well as l
thought. Perhaps l had even passed
the cabins and was going away from
them with every step. l ought to have
reached them in three hours at the ut
most. 1t seemed to me that mad been
hurting along for twice three hours.
Once l tried madly to fight into the
wind. 1t was hopeless-worse than
useless. l should drop with exhaus-
ton in few minutes, and | must keep
going.
And then I found burned grass IN
der my feet. There had been fire over
the prairie. The ground was not cold
yet. A new dread got hold of me-.
Who knew where it had gone OF what
had stood in its track? L ran along
screaming something = praying or
swearing-quite mad, L think, for a
little, till fell again and the jar
brought me to my senses.
[ had gone over the edge of an old
buffalo run scooped dry by the rush
of summer rains. lay still for lit
tie while. / must have gone to sleep
or perhaps / tainted away. Anyway,
when came to myself again the world
was as still as the grave.
The wind had gone down, as it will
sometimes, suddenly and entirely. The
silence was horrible. / got on my
feet, stiff and benumbed. In all that
gray, still, CHASTITY space there was
nothing to tell east from west, or north
from south. | was lost on the big
range.
1t was still enough, but the cold was
dangerous. could not stop. l must
move somewhere. | must make my
self a purpose purpose to keep my
self alive at least-till daylight came.
| began walking; it did not matter
in what direction. If only my
held out till morning
to keep off that horrible
drowsiness. l stumbled heavily along.
I was thinking about Molly and her
baby; it all seemed like dull dream.
And then the bells began to ring,
deep and soft and far off. / stopped
in my tracks to listen. 1t was the
sound of bells, certain, full and sweet;
and | turned and went blindly on, fol-
lowing the sound as a hound might
follow scent.
All at once l saw light. 1t wasn't
a star; there were no stars. And no.
body lived on the big range, unless
some camper was travelling about, and
campers don't travel in the teeth of a
norther. And this light swung and
wavered, went out entirely for a Sec
ond or two, and then burned up again.
And near or far | could not tell, only
it was light and it moved, and l fol-
lowed it. And l could hear the bells
all the time.
Then all at once another one of
Molly's Bible verses flashed into my
head; something about a ''star in the
East that went before them till it came
and stood over the place where the
young child lay"
Well, | wasn't wise man or /
shouldn't have got in such a fix. l
don't think I'm an irreverent kind of
a fellow, either; man couldn't live
with Molly many years and be that.
Only was looking for young child,
too, and babies-little ones-always did
seem to me near enough to heaven to
make the story reasonable enough.
Anyway, there it was, meant for me or
not, and | followed it.
More than once | fell, but always
got up and went on. | was talking to
myself part of the time, hearing my
own voice and thinking it was some
one else's. | lost my sense of time
again, but l kept on doggedly; and
then, suddenly, the light flashed
brighter, whirled about in a wild sort
of way, and went out entirely
| gave shout and ran forward.
thought l should die if / lost it. And
there [ was standing on a wide trail,
with a sort of square, dark shape
standing up in front in the dimness be-
fore me, with light and voices coming
out of the chinks, and somehow, there
was the door, and my hand on the
iSApSh, III thhoIAACl CCSoLltA II
was Molly-Molly with a lamp in her
hand, bending over a feeding-boz
made into cradle, with a great arm
full Of hay and a white sheepskin for a
cover, and Madison wife kneeling on
one side, and Clayton's wife on the
other. and beyond, with light flashing
in their great, wondering, shining
eyes, pair of astonished horses. And
then there came piping cry from the
feeding-box. and | knew l had found
the baby.
Burned out? Yes sir. That was
the last thing; but they had been
warned before the fire came down on
them. Jim Clayton had taken the
women and struck for the big road,
and they took the first shelter they
came to-a stable that had been built
in the days when all the California
supplies went overland by mule-train.
When the wind fell he took the lantern
and tried TO find cabin that used to
stand somewhere near, and l had been
following him for half an hour.
o, yes, I'm well fixed now; 5000